


Grey Smoke and Yellow Paper

by FoiblePNoteworthy



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Cartagena, Gen, Platonic Soulmates, baby nate, father and son soulmates, found family is my jam, hes nate but a baby, i dont understand why poeple in this fandom write about anything other than baby nate, i love him so much, i stole so much canon dialogue, i want a spin off game about baby nate on his second adventure with papa sully, it makes sense in context i promise, papa sully, the soulmakrs like change depending on what the other person is doing or something, whats not to love, why haven't i seen that before, young nathan drake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoiblePNoteworthy/pseuds/FoiblePNoteworthy
Summary: When Victor turned eighteen and his only mark was still grey, he accepted that he would never have a romantic soulmate. He didn’t mind, necessarily, that the universe hadn’t picked out a lady for him, but he did wonder who the hell his soulmate was meant to be to him if they still hadn’t been born.***Nate was born with a blurry cigar on his forearm, smoke trailing off one end. The band was in a Hawaiian print, blue with little white flowers. The next day it was pink splashed with orange.***Or: Platonic father and son soulmates should be a thing more often and I'm obsessed with baby Nate so.
Relationships: Nathan Drake & Victor Sullivan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	Grey Smoke and Yellow Paper

**Author's Note:**

> Idek what this is this is just Cartagena but they have soulmarks. whatever, I kept thinking it so I wanted to write it

When Victor turned eighteen and his only mark was still grey, he accepted that he would never have a romantic soulmate. He didn’t mind, necessarily, that the universe hadn’t picked out a lady for him, but he did wonder who the hell his soulmate was meant to be to him if they still hadn’t been born. What the universe thought it was playing at.

Two days after Sullivan left the Navy for good at thirty years old, he noted that the faded grey of his mark had darkened to brown – a mahogany type of shade, or maybe a rich leather. He drank to the kid’s mother and hoped she’d enjoyed herself last night.

Nine months later the mark was a square shape, still fuzzy around the edges, but detailed enough. A leather-bound notebook, he thought. He rubbed at the shape, and felt a twinge of frustration that he still had to wait – what? Twenty, thirty years before the kid would be running in his social circles. Assuming they were in the business, at least. Assuming Sullivan hadn’t died by then.

***

Nate was born with a blurry cigar on his forearm, smoke trailing off one end. The band was in a Hawaiian print, blue with little white flowers. The next day it was pink splashed with orange. Nate’s mother shook her head at the gaudy design, and felt strangely thankful that there would be an adult looking out for her little one.

***

Five years, give or take, after the notebook appeared, Sully found it opened to show yellowed sheets. Pink and blue in a crayon texture formed a blob on the page, likely indecipherable even in person.

He smiled as the kid tried to draw, suddenly thankful to have such a mark – something as clear as this would lead him straight to the kid, he was sure.

He watched the drawings evolve over the years, crayon replaced by pencil replaced by washes of watercolour and ink. The lines were sharper, both in how they were drawn and in how they appeared, the changes coming rapidly – _so_ rapidly - after thirty years of silence.

Sully found himself taking safer jobs and fewer risks, suddenly concerned with his own well-being, as he saw the day they would meet draw closer with each new drawing.

The kid was twelve when he started sketching the same thing over and over – some sort of crest, sometimes accompanied by Latin scribbles. _Sic parvis magna._ According to the internet and what Sully could make out of the various sketches, the kid was drawing the Drake family crest, for whatever reason.

When Marlowe approached him two years later with a job, Sully couldn’t say yes fast enough.

***

Nate awoke to sharp lines and washed-out green crossed with lighter stripes on the morning of The Heist. He spent the morning exploring Cartagena, sketching the old buildings and heat-flushed tourists, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone smoking.

Hopefully his soulmate wouldn’t be smoking that night – a month before, the end had begun to glow faintly whenever the smoke appeared, the ash curling around his wrist and up to his elbow, writhing as though alive. The light could cause him problems if it showed through his long sleeves.

Not spotting anyone promising, he meandered towards the museum, letting a completely different excitement overtake him.

***

There was a kid next to the Drake cabinet. Around fourteen, sketching in a leather-bound notebook. Sully couldn’t get a close enough look to see if his drawing matched up with the neat lines and sarcastic scribbles he’d become so used to seeing, nor if any of the other pages matched the drawings of Cartagena he’d seen that morning. He wondered if, were he to look at his chest, he’d spot Drake’s astrolabe and ring, mid-sketch. He resisted the urge to look.

The kid glanced at him once, in between his drawing, before he moved on. The kid didn’t react to whatever he may have seen. Maybe Sully was just looking for things that weren’t there.

Sully let out a breath. It would happen if it would happen, and he knew forcing it wouldn't do anything. He had a job to do; he needed to focus on that.

***

The guy in washed-out green who’d been messing with the cabinet fiddled with a lighter while he waited on the key guy. Nate watched him intently through the windows and didn’t let himself think about it. He just followed him as he met with his woman, and lifted his wallet when he was sure he wasn't looking. He shoved away whatever he may have been feeling.

It didn’t matter. He’d never be able to rely on someone else.

***

With the man’s hand too tight on his wrist, Nate could catch the whiff of stale smoke on him, could make out the familiar patterning on his shirt. His wrist gave a phantom itch, but he resisted the urge to scratch it.

“That was a good lift, kid,” he complimented and critiqued in equal measure, “But you’re telegraphing all your moves.”

He didn’t give a damn about what Nate had been doing - that he'd tried to steal from him. He advised him in how to be better. Would he do that for any kid who picked his pocket or..?

“You’re crazy,” Nate said, instead of asking.

***

He should have known better than to get his hopes up about why the kid had been tailing him.

He should definitely know better than to hold onto those hopes now – was this the kid’s way of getting his attention? Had he picked up on something about Sully that made him want to follow him?

But he gave no indication, except for the close attention he would have given Sully anyway.

Sully smirked as he took back his wallet, after the kid tried to walk off with it _again._ Kid had balls, he thought, and a pretty decent sense of humour. Wasn’t afraid to snark right back at the potentially pissed-off crook twice his size.

Sully didn’t let himself hesitate in leaving, not when the kid had shown no recognition either way.

It was a few hours before he regretted that – when he saw a sketch of himself and Marlowe, insulting speech bubbles floating above his head. The kid was long gone, and Sully hadn’t the faintest clue where he’d be.

***

“Damn it, kid.” Sully hadn’t thought he’d be disappointed to see the kid again, but of course the only place he could find him would be the best place to get him killed. Never seeing him again would have been far better than this.

While Katherine cooed mockingly at the kid, Sully’s eye caught on the kid's rolled-up sleeve, on a flash of green. The kid turned his arm towards himself and hid the view.

He was looking at Sully too.

The shade was the exact same as Sully’s shirt, he knew. It was a shitty mark to get stuck with, tricky to find the right person, but Sully was already convinced the kid matched his mark – and now he had something resembling evidence that he matched the kid’s mark too.

***

The woman slapped him – actually _slapped_ him. Nate had known going in that this job was gonna hurt him, but some sad, _stupid_ part of him had still thought he’d be safe just because he was a kid. It had worked with the old man in the familiar green shirt – Victor, was it?

( _Victor_ didn’t suit him, Nate thought, it wouldn't feel right to call him that.)

The old man certainly didn’t like the idea of hurting a kid. Or maybe they were playing good cop, bad cop, letting the old man take the ring from Nate without any difficulty.

(Not that Nate, alone and scrawny and unarmed, could cause this woman and her goons any trouble.)

The woman went to strike him again, and the old man caught her arm, distracting her for a crucial moment.

Nate bolted.

***

Sully spotted the man coming for the kid and he didn’t think about it – he grabbed the guy, locking his arm around his throat and forcing his gun up and away. “Beat it, kid!”

***

“Just close your eyes,” said the man in the suit with no eyes behind his sunglasses, growing impossibly taller when Nate’s knees refused to let him stand. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Nate clenched his eyes shut on reflex and willed his hand to tighten on the trigger.

There was a shot.

The old man with the faded green shirt who smelled of cigar smoke stood behind the corpse, lowering his gun and stepping towards Nate.

He helped him up, gently loosening the gun from his grip.

“You’re okay, kid,” he said like a promise, and Nate believed him.

***

The bar was shady and quiet, the walls crowded with pictures and memorabilia. Nate couldn’t believe he’d followed the man all the way here, but after all this, after what the man had done for him, Nate had to follow this through – had to find out why the man had helped him.

It wouldn’t be the reason Nate thought. He couldn’t risk letting himself hope for that.

Not for more than a few seconds anyway.

(It didn't matter anyway - couldn't matter. Not if the guy wanted the wrong sort of stuff from him. He'd heard of soul-matches gone wrong before.)

He tugged down his rolled-up sleeves to hide his mark. He couldn’t tell what the man had seen of it so far, but he didn’t want him to see any more. Not unless Nate decided to let him, deliberately.

He grudgingly accepted the plate of food and the seat, watching as the man lit a cigar.

_That_ was the final straw: “What do you want from me?”

“A little gratitude would be nice,” wasn’t an answer in the slightest. “I did just save your ass back there.”

_And being in your debt won’t make me trust you, old man,_ Nate thought, but didn’t say.

“Thanks,” Nate bit out. “But what’s in it for you? I mean,” he reached for the old man’s bottle and got a laugh instead, “You’re a crook, right? You gotta have an angle.”

_Was that all this was?_

“You are one piece of work, kid,” he said, still not answering his question. “What’s your story, anyway?”

“Look, mister,” Nate said, exhausted by his day and about done with this guy, mark or no, “No offence, but I don’t even know you.”

Nate gestured towards him, realising his mistake too late when he spotted the glow on his arm through his sleeve.

The man saw it too.

Nate snatched his arm back, hiding the glow against his chest. Badly.

“You mind if I ask, kid?” he said, not giving Nate a chance to answer before he continued, “Only that I’ve had some pretty sharp drawings of Cartagena show up this morning. Same kind of notebook you had in the museum earlier.”

Nate’s soda bubbled in his hand, the sharp popping and fizzing echoing in his head. He was numb for a moment watching the man, before he forced himself back into the present, his expression hardening. “What do you want from me?”

***

It’d be pretty shitty for a kid to get stuck with a cigar, but at least he’d never have had any illusions about a romantic soulmate. It would suck if the kid had been hoping for some curvy redhead and got stuck with him, but a mark like that, especially since it was active when he was a baby, would push out any idea that _that_ would ever happen. The kid had been expecting an adult from the start.

Didn’t mean he wanted one, clearly, but that was all Sully had to offer.

“Okay - look,” he started, “You got talent, but you got a lot to learn. Stick with me and I’ll teach you a few things.”

“Thanks,” the kid made it sound like an insult, “But I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Yeah,” Sully said, “ _Clearly."_

The kid didn't respond.

“Whaddya say we try this again? Victor Sullivan." He offered the kid a hand. "My friends call me Sully.”

There was a short assessing pause, then: “Nathan Drake.” Nathan clasped his hand. “Nate.”

Like an idiot who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, Sully said, “Y’know, there’s a reason I took this job in the first place, beyond the usual.”

Nate narrowed his eyes, but Sully made himself continue. “A couple years back, a twelve-year-old kid got really invested in drawing the Drake crest.”

“Stop it.”

Sully pulled back, but didn’t quite stop. “It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to, and it doesn’t change my offer either way, but I would like to know if we’re on the same page here, kid.”

His cigar started going out, and he paused to relight it. He watched the faded glow on the kid's arm brighten for a few seconds, before softening again. He didn’t mention it, even though he knew the kid had noticed.

“What do you want from me?” the kid asked a third time, and Sully had already been honest with him, so what more was there to ask? Unless…

Soulmarks _are_ usually romantic after all, and while it would be insane if the kid thought he’d actually want… _that_... it was a valid concern to have. More than valid, for a street kid.

Sully swallowed his disgust at the thought, looked at the tiny round-faced baby before him, and answered Nate’s question.

“A student,” he said, “A partner, something along those lines. I mean, I figured you’d be something like that when you didn’t turn up ‘til I was thirty. I don’t want anything other than that, kid, and nothing like whatever you're worrying about.”

Nate relaxed a hair.

He relit his cigar again, not because he needed to, but just so he could watch the kid’s arm flare. Something soothed in him at the sight. He hoped it would soothe the kid too.

“It’s a cigar,” Nate said, somewhat redundantly at this stage. “Cuban, I think. Not legal in the States, certainly. The band’s always some godawful Hawaiian print, so it’s hard to know for sure, ‘specially as it changes shape to different types of cigar, but… It smokes, I assume when he- when.”

The kid stopped for a moment, psyching himself up. “It smokes whenever you do," he said. "It started glowing when I started coming to Cartagena.”

So. It was him. Sully had known it the moment he saw the drawing of himself, but the kid's acceptance settled something in his chest that he'd never realised was off balance.

“Never heard of a mark that glowed,” Sully commented, instead of voicing the kid's acceptance - sure enough that the kid would want to skip over the emotions. “You’re welcome.”

Nate gave him a dirty look. “I’m not thanking you for that. You got the better mark, by the sounds of things.”

“Yeah crayon on my arms really helps when I’m trying to do business.”

Nate snorted a laugh. Sully was surprised at the wash of warmth in his chest.

“So what was all the business with the ring and the astrolabe thing back there?”

The kid snarked at him for a few moments, but something in his eyes just lit up – looking like a kid his age _should_ look – when he started talking about Sir Francis Drake. They settled into an easy give and take conversation as the kid explained, sniping at each other without heat.

Sully saw himself feeling unbelievably sappy at how young and happy Nate looked talking about history. Everyone had their passions, but he’d never seen someone so in love with their work as him.

“I see great things in our future, kid,” he told him when he finished, putting half his attention on his cigar and the other on the kid’s wrist as it glowed. Some smoke trailed up the kid’s palm. Nate smiled back at him. 

“Great things.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comment and prove you exist thank you (why am I writing a fandom that consists of twelve people?)  
> nate probably has a mark for Elena and it would be a camera but I couldn't be arsed actually writing that so


End file.
